


A New Sunday Feeling

by Foxsake5



Series: Moments in Sander's life as Robbe's boyfriend [1]
Category: WTFock | Skam (Belgium)
Genre: Boys In Love, Fluff and Smut, M/M, No Plot, Nothing explicit but yeah sexual, Sunday morning sex, very mild angst
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-09-06
Updated: 2020-09-07
Packaged: 2021-03-07 03:00:49
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,558
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26329804
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Foxsake5/pseuds/Foxsake5
Summary: Sander before Robbe: Ugh, Sundays 😒Sander after Robbe: 😏🥺🥰
Relationships: Sander Driesen/Robbe IJzermans
Series: Moments in Sander's life as Robbe's boyfriend [1]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/2101524
Comments: 30
Kudos: 235





	A New Sunday Feeling

**Author's Note:**

> This was a scene I initially wrote for But the Vagrant Owns the Whole Vast Earth, but decided it didn't fit in. Too cute-ish, ya know? 😇 Dunno if it even makes sense, to be honest... 
> 
> It's Sunday somewhere, so I thought I'd post it and hopefully it can be of a little help in this painful Sobbe-drought.

**A New Sunday Feeling**

He used to fucking hate Sundays. The day when all fun _ends_ and you’re in limbo, dreading the impending week. The punishing hangover after a glorious high. Sluggish, grey, depressing. The loneliest, quietest hours you’d spend, until the city bustles with life again Monday morning.

Now, Sundays are his favourites. Because they mean Robbe, soft and sleepy and happy in his bed, and nothing – not even intrusive, bad thoughts or piles of homework – can destroy their peace.

Sander kisses Robbe’s shoulder and snuggles against his back, which is warm and sticky with sweat, but he is in no state to care. He tangles their legs, curves his hips under Robbe, and the small hitch of Robbe’s breath could have been a punch to Sander’s gut from the deep suck of longing he feels, knowing that he is the cause and wanting to be closer, still.

They move carefully so to not make much noise, and it is sweet and lazy, both barely awake. Robbe links their fingers and presses them to his mouth, his teeth grazing Sander’s knuckles. The damp, hot sighs over his wrist and the muffled words of affection are enough to tell Sander that Robbe is almost there.

“I love you.” Robbe sounds drunk, one cheek squashed to the pillow. Sander leans over him to nuzzle his temple, and he rests his elbow on the mattress in front of Robbe to angle his thrusts differently, better. His other arm sneaks around Robbe’s neck and pulls him, a little rough, to his chest.

“Love you too,” he murmurs, hoarse, vision going hazy for a moment. “Wanna do this forever with you.”

And he means it. This day is theirs and he plans to keep him naked and _his_ for the whole of it.

Sadly, his access to Robbe has been limited, due to a hectic start of the school year. They haven’t had sex since last Sunday and sure, Sander survives (only just, suffering lockdown flashbacks), though he won’t pretend he hasn’t been sprinting to Robbe’s place at dusk for squeeze-tight hugs on the stairs before the crack of a new dawn. When it comes to Robbe, Sander will take whatever he can get.

When it comes to Robbe, Sander will walk the _entire earth_ , feet bleeding, muscles aching, parched and famished, to simply fold him in an embrace.

A year ago, such a strong devotion was foreign to him, but God, how he craved it… To pour his heart, mind, body and soul into _one_ person. He can’t believe he found him, Robbe, and that he is loved so endlessly, unreservedly in return.

If he doubted, Robbe jumping on him the second they were alone, crashing them into the wall, is solid proof that he, too, has been sorely missed, and Sander had undressed them, his fingers fumbling eagerly as if it was their very first time. Saturday merged with Sunday, and they haven’t stopped making love, relishing in lingering kisses and gentle caresses and whispered praise, also through slumber.

“Are you good?” Sander asks, checking in as he notices Robbe’s tiny whimpers.

Robbe stretches out his legs, his toes icy on Sander’s shins, and hums in contentment. “Mhm, yes. Perfect, baby.”

Sander could melt for this boy. “Baby,” he repeats, amused, and Robbe huffs, hiding his flushed face from Sander. “Aw, angel, are you shy?”

“Sander, seriously. I was in the mood.” He pouts, and then bites Sander’s thumb in playful retaliation. Sander bows down to kiss the corner of his mouth, soothing.

“I like you calling me baby,” he whispers, sloppy against his jaw, flexing his hips and earning a stifled moan from Robbe, who goes slack, lids fluttering closed, coffee-dark lashes swooping off his pink cheeks.

“Am not saying it again, though,” he mumbles, petulant. When Sander pauses, holding himself up above him with mighty willpower, Robbe’s feverish gaze is berating. “Don’t play games, Sander.”

“ _I_ am playing games?” He lifts a brow, disbelieving. “What’s with the sudden attitude, eh?”

Robbe squirms impatiently, his hair on the pillow getting static. “Want this _like crazy_. You’re amazing, you know. The best.” Upon Sander’s smirk, a wordless inquiry about Robbe’s basis of comparison, Robbe blushes and hurriedly continues, "C'mon, just get on with it, man.”

“You flatterer, you. And what’s in it for me?”

Opening and closing his mouth, Robbe stares at him, confused. “Um, I’ll blow you?”

The offer is adorably sincere. Sander snorts and nudges the tip of Robbe’s nose in assurance. “Cutie, I was joking. I’m exactly where I want to be. You’re wonderful like this.”

“’Kay.” Robbe settles back, triumphant and glowing, and Sander gathers him to him, dipping tenderly into snug velvet inch by inch. He swears he hears Robbe exhale a thankful, “Sander, baby, ‘s so nice,” but it might be wishful thinking, brain clouded by lust.

He drags his lips and tongue to the spot below Robbe’s ear, where the gold hoop glimmers, like the pendant on Robbe’s collarbone, in the buttery yellow sunlight from the window, cracked open last night to let in some fresh early autumn air. The room is cold, yet the sheets are scorching, and Robbe is fire where they touch. It smells like them in here.

Robbe tosses his head back, giving Sander space to roam over him as he pleases. Sander crosses his fingers that Robbe’s mum won’t rattle the doorknob and ask them to join her for breakfast, because he has made an absolute work out of her son’s throat, where he has laid claim to him in his own, possessive ways. He doesn’t want to subject that kind, poor woman to this debauchery.

Lapping up Robbe’s taste, Sander rocks them together and honestly, there is nobody like Robbe. He adapts to Sander so well, no talking necessary. They are fluent in each other’s desires and even when Robbe is delirious with want he listens, pays attention to Sander and what he can do to make them feel _more_. Robbe doesn’t chase his relief as much as he is giving himself completely, selflessly, to what the two of them have, allowing Sander _inside_ , for _Sander_ 's sake, and it’s… It’s heart-breaking, really.

Just then, Robbe’s spine curves and Sander’s name is on his lips like a prayer, and overwhelmed, Sander growls and pushes further into him on instinct.

“Fuck me,” Robbe gasps, digging his nails into Sander’s hand that he is clutching desperately, and okay, they seem to be officially done with the drowsy, languid, luxurious teasing.

“Yeah?” Sander has him captured in his arms, fierce and protective, speeding up their pace. “You need me?”

“Always.” Despite being flustered and turned on, Sander recognises the fond smile in his voice. Robbe indulges him, Sander knows, and he is grateful. His rampant emotions can get to him, though he isn’t ashamed anymore. Robbe has an abundance of adoration for him, no matter how sick or twisted or broken Sander becomes.

Bringing their joined hands down, Robbe shows him exactly how much he needs him and that’s it. Sander strokes him deftly, slickly, while devouring his neck as if starved, the comforting scent of cinnamon and green apples the sole thing keeping him somewhat sane as he balances precariously on the edge.

“Sander, _please_ ,” Robbe cries out softly, unable to not beg, twitching in his grip.

He eases Robbe fully onto his stomach and spreads Robbe’s thighs with his knees. A shared shiver runs through them as he sinks in deeper, harder, and-

Robbe can't wait and clamps down, tense and rippling, and the world is painted over by a large brush drenched in blinding white.

Sander doesn’t last a minute after that.

He flops onto Robbe with a groan. Robbe curls in on himself and shudders, Sander following suit easily, and they end up in a disorderly heap, panting and dizzy. The bed is ridiculously rumpled, pillows on the floor, sheets coiled around their legs like snakes. No wonder, as this hadn’t been their first round, and the actual first had been a pretty hefty, wild ride. Literally.

“Stay,” Robbe orders, breathless, and reaches behind him to tangle his fingers in Sander’s hair, halting him from unsticking. “Just… For a little bit.”

Sander drops his forehead between Robbe’s shoulder blades, spent and worn. He is locked, still inside that wet heat, hand still wrapped around Robbe, smooth and warm. “Ugh, it’s too much,” he protests weakly, though he doesn’t change their position, and he cradles Robbe against his lap, which truthfully is where he wants him to be, always, always.

Exhausted and sated, at last, Robbe falls asleep like that. Sander drifts in and out of consciousness, and whenever his eyes regain focus, he is awarded with freckles on sun-kissed skin, the glittery, dainty chain of Robbe’s necklace at his nape, and silky brown curls over one cute ear, and for some reason, the sight of that cute ear – adorned impulsively on an afternoon when Sander’s restlessness rubbed off on Robbe, who had dragged him by the collar of his shirt into the tattoo and piercing shop – seizes him with nostalgia that creates a lump in his throat.

“Oh, Robbe…”

He wishes Robbe would turn around and look at him, help him understand what he is feeling right now. It is love, of course it is, but he feels almost nauseous too, and suddenly he realises by the hollow hammering of his heart that it’s anxiety. God, if he lost Robbe, what would he do? If he couldn’t lie here and listen to his slow, peaceful breathing, trail his fingers over his stomach through the mess they made when they were most alive, kiss the salt off the curve of his shoulder, bury his nose in his neck and inhale him. _His home._ What the fuck would he do?

Sander scoots even closer, his chest burning against Robbe’s back. Robbe sleeps steadily, puffy lips parted delicately, rosy red tinging the top of his cheeks. His hands are relaxed and curled next to him like paws, sweet and innocent.

“Baby,” Sander whispers, and is surprised by how choked he is. “You’re not going anywhere, are you? You love me, and I love you. No one can be so cruel that they’d take you away from me. Right?” He sighs and holds Robbe tighter, mouthing, “I’d die.”

Robbe doesn’t wake up, and eventually, Sander spirals into heavy dreams.

A feathery touch to his brow and his cheekbones and his eyelids is coaxing him back to the present. Sander blinks, immediately discovering Robbe’s crooked smile and bright, shiny eyes.

“Hi, handsome,” Robbe greets quietly, continuing to trace his face with his fingertips in awe. This is how he more often than not looks at Sander; as if he can’t even begin to grasp the extent of his fascination for him. “Slept well?”

“Hm, not really,” Sander mutters, needing another moment for his thoughts to readjust. Those dreams had been hellish, the giant empty mural where Robbe was supposed to be jarring.

Robbe frowns and Sander realises how grumpy he came across. “Just missed seeing you, is all,” he explains, and putting on his trademark half-grin, he brushes their noses in an intimate, well-practised manoeuvre to thwart Robbe from connecting any dots. Not that there are dots to connect. His previous mini panic isn’t worth mentioning.   
  
Rolling his eyes, Robbe isn’t fooled. Nevertheless, he gives Sander that kiss he so obviously seeks. “Missed me? I’m right here, silly.” 

“In my dreams you weren’t. Fucking awful.” Sander kisses him again, delighted when Robbe nearly purrs in appreciation.

“Sounds awful,” Robbe agrees, letting himself be kissed over and over. “Luckily, that’s never gonna be an issue.”

Sander glides his lips hungrily over Robbe’s, reluctant to draw back and burst the bubble. “No? Be careful, sugar, don’t make promises you can’t keep.” His insecurity in thinly veiled, and inwardly, he winces.

“ _Tsk_ , that’s bullshit talk.” Robbe tugs insistently at his hair to force him to meet his gaze. “You and me, one hundred percent, forever. _In elk universum_. Remember?”

Sander swallows and keeps very still, scared to breathe in case he’ll crumble. That line hasn’t been brought up since the Friday they reunited and bonded as lovers, and then and there it was essential for him to say it. In hindsight, he’s been cringing, and he sort of guessed Robbe was charmed by it but didn’t really take it to heart.

But he did mean it, with every fibre of his being.

And apparently, Robbe means it too.

“Sander.” Robbe’s whole demeanour softens. “It _is_ you and me, for a long, long time. I promise.”

“I can’t stand it if it isn’t,” he admits, shaky. “Does that turn you off? Am I obsessive? Creepy?”

Robbe tilts his head, studies him. “Big feelings, huh?”

Sander nods and closes his eyes, not bearing how crushingly beautiful Robbe is. “I’m drowning in them, sometimes.”

“Love is like that for me too. You know, I can be with my friends or Mama, in the grocery store, at the skatepark, in class, and just get hit with that enormous yearning for you.” Robbe chuckles. “Like, out of nowhere. _Ka-boom_.”  
  
“Really?” Sander is gawking at him, astonished. “What do you do to fix it?”  
  
“There’s nothing I want to fix about it, Sander.” Robbe plays with Sander’s hair as he regards him, absentmindedly twirling his short locks around his fingers. “Maybe it's painful, maybe it makes me upset ‘cause you’re not with me, maybe I can’t concentrate on anything else than memories of us. But I let myself feel it, even though in the moment it’s unbearable and all I want to do is run to wherever you are, and hug you and kiss you and stuff.”  
  
“That’s my tactic,” Sander interjects proudly, and Robbe laughs. 

“Yeah, and I’m not complaining.”

“Well, you probably get a bit annoyed if you’re in the middle of things…” Sander squints at him with one eye, apprehensive.  
  
“I absolutely adore it, you dork. Please don’t change. Bother me whenever you like.”

Sander grins widely, his boldness restored. “You’re quite tolerating of my hopeless teenage boy crush on you.”

“I not so secretly have a crush on you too. Would you believe, you just happen to be my type.”

“Oh, you have a type?”

“Yup. Tall, dark and sexy ones,” Robbe says, still so close that teeth accidentally graze their lips when they speak.  
  
“So, that’s Jens, then.”  
  
“Ew, no, _Sanderrr_.” Robbe shoves at him in disgust, though it is futile, as Sander catches his wrists and rolls on top of him, pinning him to the bed.  
  
“When we met, I was a blondie.”

“And drop-dead gorgeous.” Robbe raises his head to nip at Sander’s chin. “I didn’t stand a chance. There you have it for your ego-boost. Now get off, I gotta pee and besides, we stink, so we’re having a shower--”

“A steamy shower.”  
  
“--a _steamy_ shower, and then you’re making me lunch--”

“Waffles?”

“--yes, great, waffles, and then we could go to Foto Museum?”

“You love it there, don’t you?”

“I love _you_ there.” Robbe winks, and Sander knows precisely what he’s implying. He’ll never think of toilet stalls the same. “And hey, Sander?”

“What?” Sander’s smile is dopy, and he doesn’t care in the slightest.

“It’s Sunday, baby. I’m all yours.”  
  



End file.
